


Family Affair

by lecriteuse



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Fluff without Plot, Romance, Smut, all the colours of the fluffy rainbow, basically all kinds of fluff, well maybe a little plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-26
Updated: 2017-03-26
Packaged: 2018-10-10 19:47:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10446039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lecriteuse/pseuds/lecriteuse
Summary: Merrill and Hawke have to go to their callings, and be apart, for a time. It is very hard, and Merrill is very lonely. But Hawke could never stay away forever... could she?





	1. Family

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nito](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nito/gifts).



> Dear Nito,
> 
> Happy Wintersend! I hope you like this -- I also love Merrill, so this was a joy to write.
> 
> The first chapter is all fluff, with a bit of angst as an appetizer. The second chapter is basically just porn. :) I wanted these two to have a very happy ending!

What is the meaning of family? Merrill often wondered about this. She has had such a chaotic history with families that sometimes she’s not entirely convinced that _family_ , as a conceptualization, actually even exists. Her family was not those who birthed her, in the Alerion clan, since she was given away in accordance with Dalish traditions — children with magic never kept their first family. And with everything that happened with Marethari, and after, well, Merrill could not bring herself to think of the Sabrae as her family.

She may have had something like family with all of her friends in Kirkwall. The little group of adventurers, with Hawke always at its centre, had become very dear to her, very important, for several years. Even Anders, even Fenris, who didn’t much like Merrill… but that was all right. Merrill had the others, who were always so kind to her. Varric, who called her “Daisy” and always looked out for her. Isabela, who tried to teach Merrill about boldness and beauty, and about how and why human interactions are what they are. And… Hawke.

Hawke was the closest that Merrill had to family. She still was sometimes overwhelmed with it, with her deep adoration and passionate love of Hawke, which was wonderful and painful and perfect. But even more than that — though that was already quite a lot, really — there was a strong and abiding commitment between them, a support and loyalty that Merrill had not had from anyone else in her life, ever. Right from the start, it had always felt so right, so fulfilling, that Merrill could almost weep from gratitude.

After all the turmoil in Kirkwall, Hawke had gone to ground. Merrill had, initially, been with her, then. And it had been… well, not _wonderful_ , not exactly. It had been like any of their adventures outside of Kirkwall — sleeping on the ground, traveling and making camp, endless random skirmishes with attackers of various stripes. Only this time, it had been uncertain what would happen next. Hawke had wanted very much to go to the Wardens, to further investigate the re-emergence of Corypheus. And Merrill had wanted, very much, to go with her, to support her in her quest… but she also felt a deep and irresistible duty to the city elves of Kirkwall, especially given everything that had transpired. She worried greatly for the few of them known to Merrill to be magic-users, who hid in the alienage.

So it had been a much more difficult time, between Hawke and Merrill, than such adventures had been before. It had driven a wedge between them, which was almost unbearably painful to Merrill. Even though it had been just the two of them, together, it was sometimes as though they were strangers who happened to share a campsite. They had still shared a bedroll every night; they had been intimate and physically affectionate when it was safe to do so. But every time they had spoken of what was to come next, everything… fell apart. They could not agree on whether to proceed to the Wardens, or return to Kirkwall. Although they did not argue about it, not exactly, it had been obviously fraught and unresolved.

Eventually, Hawke, in her wisdom and courage, had spoken of what Merrill could not bring herself to do. They had been sitting, pressed into one another, close by the camp fire. Merrill had tucked her head under Hawke’s chin, was relishing the warmth and comfort of Hawke’s arms around her. She had been feeling quite peaceful, until Hawke had said, “Merrill. This can’t go on, you know.”

Merrill hadn’t answered right away. She had blinked against sudden tears; despite everything, despite being tucked in Hawke’s arms right at that moment, she was still terribly and desperately afraid that Hawke was about to tell her that they could not be together, that Hawke did not want them to be lovers any more, that they would have to part ways forever. “What do you mean?” Merrill had asked, softly, after a while.

She felt Hawke’s sigh in the rise and fall of her chest, in the soft huff against the top of her head. “Wandering around in the wilderness, not really making any progress toward anything, putting off what needs to be done. Merrill, I love and adore you so… but you need to be in Kirkwall. And I need to go to the Wardens.”

Merrill could feel her face crumpling. “What are you saying, Hawke?” she asked in a whisper.

Hawke had leaned back, placed her hand under Merrill’s chin, forced her to look up. Before saying anything, Hawke kissed Merrill, sweetly, upon her lips, the corner of her eye, the tip of her nose, then her lips again. “I am saying that we must be realistic about what the world will allow us. I mean… that we must part ways, for a time. Just for a time,” she added, emphatically. “Sweet Merrill,” she said, kissing away the tear that slipped down Merrill’s cheek. “I love you so much. I would never willingly part ways with you, if there were any other way…. But you see, don’t you? I must go to the Wardens, I cannot ignore what is happening with them, with Corypheus. And you must go to Kirkwall, to the elves that are still there, who need your strength and your compassion.”

“Oh, Hawke,” Merrill had said. “I don’t want to be away from you. I… I don’t want to go to Kirkwall. I want to go with you.”

Hawke had looked into Merrill’s eyes, then, and was silent for a moment. “Merrill, you are one of the strongest, bravest people I know. No, it’s true. You have done so much for the elves, in Kirkwall, and in your clan… even if they don’t see it. If I drag you on this quest with me… you’d be miserable. And I’d be miserable, knowing I was making you miserable. Why do you think we’ve been wandering so aimlessly, these last weeks? Neither of us wants to part. And we both feel compelled to follow our own purpose, and now, those purposes are at odds. Listen,” she said, “this will not be forever, Merrill. It will be for a time. And I will write to you — I will send letters to the estate in Kirkwall as often as I can. And when I have done what I’m setting out to do, when Corypheus has been dealt with… we will be together, again.”

“Together,” Merrill had murmured. “Good.” She had tucked her head back under Hawke’s chin, nuzzling the warm skin right where Hawke’s pulse fluttered beneath the skin. That night, they had made love, knowing it would be the last time for… Creators knew how long. 

The next morning, at a crossroads, Merrill had set out in one direction, toward the main roads that would take her back to Kirkwall, back to the city elves in the alienage there, back to all the troubles and instability of that place. And Hawke had walked off in a different direction, toward the long road to the Anderfels and the Grey Wardens. She hadn’t looked back… and that alone had given Merrill the strength to keep to her own path, and keep putting one foot in front of another.

Merrill had set herself up in the Hawke Estate, where she had lived with Hawke for some time before their departure. It had always been a big, imposing place, built to the tastes of human nobility. Merrill had never been entirely at ease in its rooms, and without Hawke there, it was even worse. She slept there, in the bed where they had spent their first night together and every subsequent night that they were in the city…. It was very hard, at first.

But it had gotten easier. Every day, Merrill had risen and gone into the city, to the alienage or to the office of the provisional Viscount, and worked to make sure the city elves were not being maltreated or unduly persecuted. She visited people in their homes, bringing food, helping with the care of children or the few elderly, offering a sympathetic ear to all. She helped to ensure that any magic users who wished to remain in their homes had the resources to keep themselves hidden. She pled with the City Guard to ensure the alienage was kept as safe as possible, and that elves venturing into the city were not harassed. It made for long days, and tiring work, for which Merrill was grateful. Every evening, she fell into the empty bed in the estate, and slept easily. She only occasionally dreamed about her ruined eluvian, or her lost clan… or Hawke.

She was often lonely. But even this got better. Having a routine, a purpose; seeing every day that her work benefitted people; it helped. She occasionally met with Aveline just to visit, which was a joy. And she got letters from Varric, full of his wit and charm, telling her about the Inquisition and its people. Even Isabela wrote to her, a couple of times, her letters as charismatic and effusive as she was herself.

When the first letter from Hawke arrived, Merrill immediately read it seven times, and cried through every reading. Hawke had met up with the Wardens, and was working with them to find a way to understand what could be done about Corypheus; Hawke loved Merrill, Hawke missed her, Hawke thought about her every day. Merrill kept the letter with her, folded and carefully tucked into her clothing, and re-read it, the creases becoming worn.

Merrill wrote back, addressing the letters to Hawke by way of Weisshaupt. She told Hawke about her work with the city elves, about the slow and halting rebuilding of order in Kirkwall. She told Hawke about the flowers blooming on the estate grounds, about the splendid tall ships that came into the harbour, about how Aveline was with child and expecting to deliver soon. She told Hawke that she missed her and loved her and wished her close.

Time passed. Merrill managed much as she had always done, by doing her work and taking care of her people. Kirkwall became gradually more stable, less dangerous, and the city elves Merrill visited in the alienage were more or less secure and happy. Merrill herself was content to do her work, and write to Hawke, and wish she could come back…. One time, she dreamed of Hawke, and it was a terrible dream, a nightmare, really. Hawke was in the Fade, actually _in_ the Fade, in the dream… Varric was there, and others Merrill didn’t recognize. They faced a terrible foe, and they were all exhausted after many trials, and Merrill knew, somehow, that it was imperative that the party survive and escape the Fade. In the dream, Hawke tried to sacrifice herself, tried to talk her companions into leaving her to face that last, horrifying foe, alone. It was a terrifying dream that rattled Merrill for days afterward.

But Hawke continued to write letters — usually short, and not very often, but she _did_ write, and told Merrill how much she loved and missed her in every one. Merrill wrote back, to Weisshaupt or to Skyhold, telling Hawke about her work with the alienage folks, about Kirkwall, about how much Merrill loved her. Merrill kept the letters safe in a press in their room at the estate… and she always kept Hawke’s latest letter tucked in her clothing, every day, a little talisman of love. She read and re-read them every day, until the creases in the paper began to tear. They were Merrill’s only tangible reminder of Hawke’s love, and Merrill treated them like the precious objects they were.

Finally, somehow, Corypheus was defeated. Merrill heard about this from city gossip — even the folks in the alienage had heard. Merrill tried not to allow herself to hope that Hawke would come back to her right away — she may have still been occupied with the Wardens, or otherwise engaged with the Inquisition — but hope blossomed in her chest nonetheless, stubborn and intractable as a weed. She kept doing her work, and kept writing to Hawke, and tried not to hope, and hoped anyway.

Soon, Varric returned to Kirkwall. He was elected Viscount in short order, and this made things rather easier for Merrill, to have someone on her side who was in charge. Varric also cajoled Merrill into coming out more often, and sometimes Aveline as well (busy as she was with the Guard, and with her baby). Then Isabela came to Kirkwall as a port of call, and they were all very merry for a few days. Merrill even got to go on Isabela’s ship, marvelling at the cunning way everything had a secure place, at the motion of the boards beneath her feet. Isabela laughed at her, not unkindly. “You should sail away with me, Kitten,” she said, slinging her arm around Merrill’s shoulders, steadying her. “You’d have your sea legs in no time, I promise.”

Later, at the Hanged Man, Isabela said to Merrill, “Really, I’m absolutely furious with Hawke for leaving you behind like this, sweet thing. What is she thinking?”

“Hawke has important work to do,” Merrill said. “She needed to help the Wardens. It’s important, as important as your ship is to you.”

“If you say so,” Isabela, said. “Though I don’t see how it’s even remotely the same thing.”

“Hawke wasn’t happy about being away,” Varric said. “Believe me. She talked about Merrill _constantly_.”

“Aww,” Isabela said. “That’s _adorable_. But it’s all the more infuriating: if she loves you, Kitten, she should _be_ with you.”

“Duty is important too,” Aveline said. “Hawke has always been cognizant of the greater good. She’s willing to sacrifice anything, even her own happiness, for others.”

Merrill smiled. This was true, and why she loved Hawke so much, why they understood each other. If it meant that they had to be apart… perhaps that was just another sacrifice, one that both Hawke and Merrill would have to make… though was it a sacrifice they would have to make, every day, every night, for the rest of their lives?

They visited together a little longer, and Merrill was happy enough. Surrounded by friends, listening to their dear voices, their funny stories, it was hard even for Merrill to feel sad. Then Aveline went home to Donnic and the baby, Varric retreated up to his rooms above the Hanged Man, and Isabela stalked off into the night in search of a different kind of companionship. “You should come too, Kitten,” Isabela said to her as they parted was in the streets, Merrill to head into Hightown toward the estate, Isabela into the tangle of Lowtown’s streets. “The Blooming Rose is sure to have someone who could show you a good time.”

Merrill smiled. “Oh, Isabela, you’re so thoughtful.” They both knew Merrill would not be joining Isabela. It always seemed so strange to Merrill, that someone might want to be intimate with a person they did not love deeply. But then, many things often seemed strange to Merrill, especially where Isabela was concerned, and at any rate the Blooming Rose made Isabela happy and that was all that mattered.

Merrill _did_ miss intimacy, she thought, walking through the wide streets, toward the estate ad its silent rooms, to her empty bed. She missed closeness, missed the softness of Hawke’s skin, the sounds she made as Merrill touched her, the scent of her after a night of lovemaking. Sometimes, Merrill missed the intimacy in a way that was frankly physical, a primal, throbbing need… but even then, she did not want mere satisfaction of these urges. She wanted Hawke, all of her, and she wanted her physically as much as she wanted her emotionally.

Merrill hoped she would sleep well. Nights could be the hardest, when she was feeling sad and lonely. Sleeping, even if bad dreams came, would make morning come all the sooner, and Merrill could throw herself once more into her work, her service.

At the estate, torches had been lit. Merrill was confused and a little worried — Bodahn would not light up the estate just for Merrill to come back at night. What was going on?

Inside, candles and torches lighted every corner, far more than needed, and the fires were merrily burning. In the main foyer, a number of traveling bags were piled on the floor, and as Merrill approached, scarcely allowing a spark of hope to light in her heart, she heard Hawke’s voice for the first time in what feels like an age.

“…so you can keep it. You’re a good man, Sandal,” Hawke said over her shoulder, striding into the room. 

Merrill couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, could hardly _breathe_. For a moment, frozen in time, Merrill feared this was another taunting dream, one of the ones where she would see Hawke, and then Hawke would be taken away, would leave again… or, worse, as in the nightmares Merrill sometimes had, Hawke would tell Merrill she no longer loved her, had never loved her, that she was leaving Merrill forever.

But then Hawke took another two steps into the foyer, turned her head, and saw Merrill there. And Hawke — brave, beautiful Hawke, no fear or uncertainty in her, now or ever — Hawke did not seem to suffer the fear, the spasm of uncertainty, that had gripped Merrill.

Instead, Hawke smiled, she smiled her beautiful crooked smile, and it was brighter than the torches and the fire, brighter than the stars and the sun. In a few long strides, Hawke was across the floor and opening her arms and gathering Merrill into an embrace so tight it could almost squeeze away all the time and distance that had been between them. Merrill was lifted almost off her feet with the sweep of it; her own arms went around Hawke’s strong waist, clinging, feeling the familiar curves of her body under her hands, scarcely believing this could be happening, here, now.

Hawke repeated her name, again and again, “Merrill, Merrill, oh, my Merrill,” and she sounded as overwhelmingly happy as Merrill felt. Hawke kissed the top of Merrill’s head, the tips of her ear-points, everything her lips could reach without loosening her embrace. Merrill was half-laughing, half-crying, but quietly; she couldn’t quite speak, not yet, she was too overcome to form words, lost in a sea of relief and gratitude and love. She could smell the road on Hawke’s clothes, smoke and horse and sweat, and under that, the scent of _Hawke_ , her skin, her, _her_ , same as Merrill remembered.

Finally, Hawke’s arms loosened. She slipped a hand up to cup Merrill’s cheek, then leaned forward and kissed Merrill, once, twice, three times, smiling at her between each kiss. Merrill, though, was impatient, greedy, after so long. She hooked one arm around Hawke’s neck and pulled her forward, pressing a wild kiss to Hawke’s smiling mouth, sliding her tongue out to stroke and slide against Hawke’s, desperate for more contact, more depth, more connection, _more_.

The kiss lasted a long, long time, finally coasting to a stop. They looked at each other, breathless. Seeing Hawke’s dear face, her hair so much longer than Merrill had ever seen it before, her beautiful bright eyes, her lips curved into that crooked smile that Merrill adored… Merrill felt deeply happy, at peace in a way she hadn’t felt for years. Hawke was here, in her arms, was _home_ after so long….

With Hawke here, the estate, Merrill suddenly realized, was _home_. _Her_ home. And Hawke, her Hawke, _hers_ , was here, and Merrill was so happy and grateful it took her breath away.

Later, after Hawke’s things had been put away, and she had washed off the dust of the road and changed her clothes, they settled by the fireplace in the main bedroom, on a thick soft rug, Merrill’s legs sprawled out before her, settled with Hawke’s arms around her, her head tucked under Hawke’s chin… same as they had always done.

“I should have written, to say I was coming,” Hawke said. “I should have written more anyway, while I was away, I know… why do you put up with me?” she asked, nuzzling the crown of Merrill’s head.

“Don’t be silly,” Merrill said, charmed. “I loved every one of your letters, and I was so very happy to get them. And besides, you were busy, and you were always on the move, with the Wardens and everything that happened.” She tipped her head to look at Hawke. “And you’re here now. You came back to me.”

“Of course I came back,” Hawke said, smiling indulgently. “I could never stay away, not if I had a real choice, Merrill. I love you so much,” she said, then kissed Merrill’s temple, her cheek, the corner of her mouth. “I missed you every moment. I wanted so badly to be with you… you’re everything to me, Merrill. My home. My family.”

Merrill looked at Hawke’s face and felt like she could walk on air, she was so happy. “Family,” she agreed.

“Merrill,” Hawke says, and something in her tone made Merrill sit up a little. Hawke shifted so that they were facing one another. She took both of Merrill’s hands in hers. “All this time away… everything I’ve seen, everything I’ve been through… it really clarified a lot for me. And I think that I want… I want us to be family in every sense of the word. I want us to be married.”

“Married? Like Aveline and Donnic?”

Hawke smiled so widely; she looked so beautiful, Merrill thought, so happy. It was wonderful that she should be the one to make Hawke smile like that. “Like that,” Hawke confirmed. “It’s a way for us to be joined together in love, in a way that everyone will know, everyone will have to acknowledge.”

“Oh!” Merrill said, softly. She was smiling as widely as Hawke.

“Is that a yes?” Hawke asked, humour and hope mingling in her tone.

“Yes!” Merrill said, “Oh, yes, Hawke, I… oh, I love you!” Merrill surged forward and wrapped her arms around Hawke’s neck, startling the other woman, who rocked back with the force of Merrill’s movement. 

Hawke laughed then, holding Merrill tightly, rocking until she had pulled Merrill mostly into her lap, into the warm cradle of Hawke’s arms and legs. “I love you too,” she said, still laughing, “I love you too.”

Merrill smiled into the crook of Hawke’s neck. _Love,_ she thought, and _family, my family, my Hawke_. And she thought that perhaps she had always known Hawke was her family. Certainly, she had loved Hawke, very deeply, for a long time. And Hawke had come back to her now, after so long — as family ought to do. Family ought to return, and stay together, and love one another. And now that Merrill had a family, had Hawke, and they were to be joined together…Merrill thought that her little found family was the best thing she could ever ask for.


	2. Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke and Merrill's reunion gets physical.

Cradled in Hawke’s arms, between her legs, Merrill felt extraordinarily content. She leaned forward to kiss Hawke, to cover her beautiful face in kisses. It had been too long, too long apart, and Merrill found she could not bear to stop kissing. She leaned closer, squirming until she had her legs wrapped around Hawke’s hips, pulling herself close with her arms and her legs at the same time, closer, _closer_. She wanted to be as close to Hawke as possible, after so long apart.

She slid her tongue into Hawke’s mouth, tilting her head, re-learning the shape and the taste of Hawke’s lips and tongue. And somehow, without meaning to, Merrill began to writhe in a way that was decidedly _more_ than simply _affectionate_. 

Hawke gasped around Merrill’s mouth, her hands tightening around Merrill’s shoulders. Her hips bucked up into Merrill’s, pressing their bodies together, hard, right against Merrill’s sex, and it was suddenly too much, and Merrill felt all sense of restraint and control slip away from her. It had been too long, _too long_ without intimacy and closeness and pleasure. Merrill _wanted_ , and it was both an expression of her long-suppressed physical desire and a result of her overwhelming relief and love and joy at having Hawke close.

Merrill had never been reticent about sex with Hawke, not even at the start. She had always taken her desire, her need, and acted on it. And she did so now, firmly pushing one of her hands between their bodies to slide over Hawke’s breast. Hawke was wearing only a soft cloth shirt, and under Merrill’s exploring hand she could feel the contours of Hawke’s body, the firm muscles and the grooves of her ribs, the astonishingly soft fullness of her breast, the delightful peak of her nipple. Hawke writhed as Merrill smoothed her palm across that hard bud, moaned deeply as Merrill rolled it very gently between her fingers. Merrill never stopped kissing Hawke deeply, drinking in Hawke’s closeness, her responsiveness, the miraculous and sensual reality of her presence, here, now.

Hawke broke off kissing Merrill’s mouth, pressing open, wet kisses along Merrill’s cheek. Merrill nuzzled into the exposed line of Hawke’s neck, breathing deeply and inhaling the heady scent of her skin, kissing its soft tender warmth. She pressed her hips down into Hawke’s lap as Hawke took Merrill’s earlobe between her teeth, nibbling softly. “Merrill,” Hawke whispered directly into her ear, and Merrill shivered. “The things you do to me, oh, _Maker_ , that feels so good.”

Merrill kissed Hawke’s ear. “Hawke. I want you,” she said, punctuating this with an urgent roll of her hips. “Please,” she said, “I need you, _now_.”

Hawke did not need any further prompting. She shifted her legs and wrapped her arms lower around Merrill’s body, then surged up, lifting Merrill, who clung to Hawke’s shoulders and tightened her legs around Hawke’s waist. She resumed kissing Hawke’s mouth, knowing that Hawke would manage to walk to the bed even with this impediment, as she had many, many times before.

At the edge of the bed, Hawke leaned over, and set Merrill on her back on the mattress. Merrill immediately rolled up and on to her knees, reaching for the ties on Hawke’s trousers. She pressed kisses along Hawke’s collarbone where her shift collar opened. Hawkes hands ran through Merrill’s hair, and she laughed breathlessly. “Eager, are you?”

Merrill did not answer, focusing on getting Hawke’s trousers open. When the ties were loosed, she tugged up Hawke’s shift, running her hands along the warm skin beneath. She pressed her hands to the undersides of Hawke’s breasts, relishing the hitch in Hawke’s breathing, the small noises of desire she was making. Merrill kissed the warm skin of Hawke’s belly, loving the way the muscles tensed and jumped under her lips, nuzzling the patch of dark hair covering the middle of her abdomen and disappearing into her underpants. She slid her hands down to push Hawke’s trousers past her hips, taking her underpants with them; she vaguely registered that Hawke was pulling off her shirt, and glanced up, taking in the beautiful sight of Hawke’s bareness, the firelight warm on her luminous skin.

Then Merrill dipped her head back down and pressed her lips to Hawke’s hipbone, then kissed and nuzzled down the dip between her abdomen and thigh, until she was burrowing into the dense hair over Hawke’s sex. The scent of her was heady and provoking, filling Merrill’s nose and deepening her desire, her desperation. She pushed her tongue out, pressing through the curls, to touch the exquisitely soft folds hidden behind it.

Hawke’s hips bucked forward, and her hands clasped Merrill’s head. She cried out, “Ah, oh, _Maker_ , Merrill!” She moved her feet as far apart as she could with her trousers still pooled around her ankles, trying to give Merrill more access. Merrill thrilled at the tart wetness of Hawke’s arousal, curling her tongue, trying to get deeper. Her hands clutched Hawke’s hips, and she burrowed in, close and intimate and wonderful….

But it was not enough, not like this. Merrill pulled back, rolling onto her backside on the bed, tugging insistently on Hawke’s hands, pulling her forward. Hawke resisted long enough to kick off her trousers, then fell forward, catching herself on her hands and knees, over top of Merrill. What followed was a sort of awkward wrestling match, in which Merrill was trying to both touch as much of Hawke as she could all at once, but also to push her up and over, onto her back; and Hawke was trying to open Merrill’s tunic and tug down her breeches; both were interested in kissing the other. All in all, it was a chaos of limbs and movement, of mouths and faces and words of passion and love.

In the end, Merrill succeeded, pushing Hawke over and onto her back, following her and looming over her, bending down to kiss her deeply. Hawke took advantage of their positions to pull off Merrill’s tunic entirely; she mock-growled in frustration at encountering Merrill’s underthings, tugging at her neckline. Merrill leaned back, her knees on either side of Hawke’s hips, and pushed down her underthings and breeches, kicking the clothing aside as she moved down Hawke’s body. 

Kneeling between Hawke’s legs, Merrill gently urged her to part her knees, to let Merrill in. Looking down at her, Hawke moaned, a breathy and beautiful sound. She carefully threaded her fingers through Merrill’s hair, stroking. “I love you,” Hawke said, her face suffused with passion.

“I love you, Hawke,” Merrill said, “so, so much.” She bent down, kissing low on Hawke’s belly. “I want you.” She settled down, her arms wrapped around Hawke’s strong thighs. She was struck anew with how very beautiful and desirable Hawke was… especially like this, naked and open, just for Merrill. Hawke’s body hair was dark and lush, and it was endlessly delightful to Merrill — the hair covering her sex extended to her navel and trailed down each thigh, and was as thick as summer grass. Where it parted, Hawke’s sex was visible, puckered and flushed and dark, bedewed with her desire. Merrill, overcome with love, leaned forward and pressed her lips to Hawke’s sex.

It was transcendentally wonderful, doing this; Merrill loved it, loved the closeness and intimacy of it, the scent and the taste of sex, loved the way it felt to bring Hawke such pleasure. Hawke’s fingers tensed in her hair, careful not to pull and hurt Merrill; the muscles in her thighs jumped with each motion of Merrill’s tongue. 

Merrill tried to go slowly; she always did. And she had always failed, at least the first time after being apart from Hawke, even if her absence had only been for a day. This separation had been so long, so lonely, and this reunion was so unexpected and so welcome… Merrill pressed her mouth to Hawke’s sex with a kind of passionate desperation, as though she could drink in her lover — her soon-to-be spouse — drink her in and never be apart ever again. She moved her tongue and lips over every part of Hawke’s sex, touching and tasting, but before long she moved her lips to the extraordinarily sensitive bud at the top of her sex. She sealed her lips around it, pressing her tongue rhythmically, wanting to draw out more ardent cries from Hawke, wanting to bring her to her climax.

It did not take long. Hawke’s body tensed all at once, then shuddered powerfully, her hands knotting in Merrill’s hair, her sex throbbing and the fluid of her climax flowing in pulses over Merrill’s chin. Merrill held her thighs, keeping her lips still, through the peak and aftershocks of Hawke’s climax.

Then Hawke was pulling her face, urging her to move up and on top of Hawke. Hawke’s arms went around Merrill’s shoulders and pulled her down for a deep kiss; Hawke moaned, sweeping her tongue into Merrill’s mouth, tasting herself. They kissed for long minutes, Hawke gently wiping the wetness from Merrill’s face and whispering words of love and devotion. Merrill, her arousal still at a full roar, kissed and writhed, desperate for more sensation. She felt her nipples, hard as pebbles, slide against Hawke’s breasts, their softness thrilling but insufficiently stimulating. She ground her hips down, almost managing to rub herself against the still-damp mound of Hawke’s sex. She groaned into Hawke’s mouth, desperate.

“What do you want, Merrill?” Hawke murmured. “What can I do for you?”

“Oh! I — please — your fingers… and keep kissing me, please.”

Hawke smiled before kissing Merrill again, deliberate and teasing, her lips and tongue moving slowly. One of her hands slid down Merrill’s back, tracing lightly over her the outer part of her thigh, which Merrill obligingly moved outward. Then Hawke’s fingers were deftly slipping between their bodies, down between Merrill’s legs. She stroked Merrill’s sex, so slick with her arousal that her fingertips glided frictionlessly over her folds. Merrill groaned again, rolling her hips against Hawke’s hands. Hawke hummed happily, not ever stopping their kissing, and then slid a finger deep into Merrill’s opening. She curled her finger just so, while allowing the heel of her hand to press and move against the sensitive bud at the top of Merrill’s sex, all of it with the same deliberate rhythm of Hawke’s kissing. It was extraordinarily good, unimaginably good, and Merrill was utterly lost in her pleasure.

Merrill was already very close when Hawke added a second finger, stretching Merrill just a little more, pressing inside of her just a little more firmly, and Merrill could feel herself falling over the edge of her climax. It lasted a very, very long time, with Merrill shuddering and crying out in harsh inarticulate shouts, her pleasure cresting and breaking and cresting again. When it was finally over, her body still thrummed with sensation. She allowed herself to collapse on top of Hawke, who tenderly kissed Merrill’s forehead.

Eventually, the sweat on Merrill’s back cooled, and she began to feel chilly despite the fire, despite Hawke’s splendid warmth. Hawke carefully extricated her fingers, causing a shudder to ripple through Merrill, and pulled up blankets to wrap around them both. Merrill snuggled into the crook of Hawke’s arm, laying so that she could hear Hawke’s precious, irreplaceable heartbeat. Hawke hooked her leg over Merrill’s, wrapped her arm around Merrill’s waist, and pulled her even closer. They lay like that, just breathing, just being close, for many minutes.

Eventually, Hawke stirred. “Hmmm,” she said, “I really, really needed that. I missed you so much, Merrill.”

Merrill, rather than answer, kissed the top of Hawke’s breast where she had laid her head.

For a time after, Hawke told Merrill about her plans for a wedding. According to Hawke, they would have a formal ceremony at the Chantry, for appearance’s sake, but then they would have a _proper_ wedding. At the estate. With casks of ale and wine and brandy, and all kinds of food. Music, and dancing. And Varric would officiate, Hawke told Merrill, and all their friends would come.

Merrill hummed in agreement. She really didn’t especially care what kind of ceremony or party they had, as long as Hawke was happy… and as long as it meant they would be joined, officially and permanently, and would never be apart again.

 _Family_ , Merrill thought, sleepily. Family, and love, and happiness, and all the things Merrill thought she could never have. And now, here she lay in her lover’s arms, with all of that and more. She could not imagine anything better.


End file.
